


Faulty Manufacturing

by idoltina



Category: Glee
Genre: Blood, Canonical Character Death, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Cancer, Needles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 18:49:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idoltina/pseuds/idoltina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is unhappy about turning thirty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faulty Manufacturing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [selenacriss (deppcriss)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deppcriss/gifts).



> **Warnings (if any):** allusions to barebacking, blood, brief use of needles in a medical setting, discussions of cancer, language, mental illness, mentions of character death, sex

It starts on a Tuesday.

April 30, 2024, to be exact.

Kurt stops at a department store on his way home from work and buys exactly thirty-one pairs of light blue socks. He would’ve bought thirty, but May has thirty-one days, which is throwing everything off, and he _has_ to have enough socks to get through the month, a new pair for every day. He doesn’t want to wash off the luck. He keeps them in a plastic container in the back of the closet; it makes it more inconvenient when he’s getting dressed in the morning, but he’d rather make the extra effort rather than have to explain it to Blaine.

He’s not lying. He’s just... withholding information. There’s a difference.

They crawl into bed before midnight. Blaine falls asleep almost instantly, face nestled against the back of Kurt’s neck, but Kurt stays awake and waits for the stroke of midnight.

And when both hands points directly north, Kurt twists his wedding band around his finger three times for luck.

*****

Rachel takes him to lunch the next day, a _Happy May_ occasion with Arnold Palmers and an abundance of avocado. He lets her do most of the talking, which isn’t that difficult to be honest, making a few noises of assent around forkfuls of his salad to pacify her. They indulge and decide to split a slice of cheesecake for dessert, and as he watches her take her first rather large bite, he realizes that _splitting a cheesecake with Rachel Berry_ is not a good start to the month. He tries to find condolence in his cheesecake and takes a larger second bite, tuning Rachel out until she hums around her fork and says, “I’ll make sure you get your own cheesecake at your surprise party.”

Kurt pauses with his fork halfway to his mouth and glances over at her. “Surprise party?”

Rachel chokes on a sip of water and sets her glass down with a loud _clunk_. “Crap! I didn’t mean to -- _I’m sorry_ ,” she stammers. “But look, Blaine and I have been planning it for a couple of weeks, can you just... act surprised, okay? Don’t say anything to Blaine. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

And there it is again, the choice to withhold information. It’s not... lying. Of course, he’s done the same thing with Rachel before. But this is different -- if he tells Rachel that he won’t say anything to Blaine, he’d be lying to her, because he _is_ going to say something to Blaine. His best option at the moment is the non-committal grunt he gives her.

Kurt doesn’t want to turn thirty, and he definitely doesn’t want to celebrate it.

He lets Rachel have the rest of the cheesecake.

*****

He doesn’t mention it to Blaine until the following evening. They’re getting ready for bed, hips and elbows bumping against each other as Blaine brushes his teeth and Kurt moisturizes, when he finally does. “So,” he says casually, lifting his chin to survey his skin in the mirror, “a surprise party.”

Blaine’s arm pauses comically mid-brush as he meets Kurt’s eyes in the mirror before spitting into the sink and heaving a great sigh. “Rachel never could keep a secret,” Blaine admits, wiping his mouth off with a towel.

“She asked me not to tell you that I knew.”

Blaine smiles in lieu of a kiss, beaming at him. “And you told me anyway.”

Kurt tries very hard to ignore the twinge of guilt in his gut. “I have a request.”

Blaine barks out a laugh and shakes his head as they exit the bathroom and head into the living room to turn off all of the lights and make sure the front door is locked. “Of course you do,” he says, clearly bemused. “I’ll see what I can do. What is it?”

Kurt clicks the deadbolt into place and doesn’t turn around. “Don’t do it.”

Blaine’s voice betrays his confusion. “Don’t do what?”

“Throw the party.”

“You want me to cancel the party?” Blaine says, clearly holding back a laugh. “Why, just because it’s not a surprise anymore?”

“No,” Kurt answers, turning off the light in the kitchen. “I just don’t want it.”

“Kurt,” Blaine tries, patient as ever, “come on, you love a good party. It’s your thirtieth birthday, you should celebrate --”

“I don’t want it,” Kurt repeats. He pauses in the living room to straighten the stack of magazines on the coffee table before straightening up again to head into the bedroom.

“Kurt,” Blaine tries again, “I know you might be freaking out a little because you’re turning thirty, but --”

“Drop it,” Kurt says thinly, whipping around to face him. He regrets his tone as soon as he sees the look on Blaine’s face, but he can’t bring himself to regret being insistent upon this. “I think I’ve been very clear about the fact that I don’t want to have a party for my birthday this year. Please respect my wishes.” He doesn’t look back when he turns back around to head into the bedroom, and he leaves the light on when he crawls under the covers.

Blaine turns the lights off at 11:30 exactly.

Kurt tries to keep his breathing even as Blaine crawls in under the covers behind him, careful with each movement he makes. It takes a few moments for Kurt’s eyes to adjust to the darkness, the room quiet as they breathe in tandem. When his eyes are used to the dark, it’s 11:41. Forty-one minus eleven is thirty, and --

\-- and then Blaine shifts behind him, rolling onto his side and moving in close, hand settling gently at Kurt’s hips, and Kurt forgets about the numbers for a minute. “I’m sorry,” Blaine says quietly. Kurt closes his eyes at that, _wishing_ that the guilt would go away because Blaine didn’t actually do anything wrong.

“Don’t apologize,” Kurt sighs, reaching back to tangle his fingers with Blaine’s. “Just cancel the party, okay? Please?”

Blaine doesn’t answer for a few moments, and Kurt hopes that he doesn’t try to argue. Kurt doesn’t have the energy for it. “Okay,” Blaine says eventually, and Kurt exhales slowly, letting his thumb drift across the skin of Blaine’s hand.

“Thank you,” Kurt sighs, nestling in closer to his pillow.

Blaine hesitates for a moment before curling in closer, hooking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder. “Mercedes was planning on flying out,” he adds. “Would you be up for visiting with her this summer instead? We haven’t seen her in awhile.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Kurt yawns, too tired to be preoccupied with the details. “We can talk about it later.” He drags Blaine’s hand up to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of Blaine’s hand as a good night kiss before bringing their hands up to rest over his chest.

Blaine still feels bad, though, or at the very least awkward and unsure of how to handle the situation; it’s evident in the way Blaine slowly drops a kiss to Kurt’s shoulder, the touch barely there even through the thin fabric of Kurt’s shirt. But Blaine doesn’t stop there -- he moves his lips up, leaving a trail of kisses up Kurt’s neck to his ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. He presses in close, dick right up against Kurt’s ass, and begins to suck on the skin at Kurt’s neck, mouth wet and hot and --

“Mmm, not tonight, baby,” Kurt mumbles sleepily, shrugging his shoulder a little in an attempt to get Blaine to stop.

Blaine does stop, but his whole body tenses up, Kurt can feel it, and _god_ , he does not have the energy to withhold the truth tonight, much less actually explain anything. “You’re still mad at me,” Blaine says dully.

“No,” Kurt sighs, impatient. He twists around awkwardly to face Blaine and blinks up at him tiredly. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just not in the mood, okay?” And, okay, that’s closer to lying about this than he’s come before, so he arches his neck up to press a kiss to Blaine’s lips, nudging Blaine’s nose when he pulls away. He turns back around and tries to settle in comfortably again, still clutching Blaine’s hand to keep him close.

Thankfully, Blaine doesn’t press the issue. He seems satisfied with Kurt’s answer and follows Kurt’s lead, curling in close again. “Love you,” he mumbles against Kurt’s neck.

“Love you too,” Kurt says quietly. The words seem the best comfort to Blaine, and he falls asleep quickly like he almost always does.

The clock strikes twelve, and Kurt turns his ring three times. 

*****

Kurt wakes up with Blaine in the morning like he always does, handing Blaine his travel mug full of coffee on his way out the door. Blaine parts with a smacking kiss to Kurt’s cheek, bagel in hand and briefcase full of lesson plans and scribblings of five-year-olds. Kurt leans against the kitchen counter with his mug, waiting for his coffee to cool, and waits in the silence.

He hates silence. It’s big and loud and encompassing and makes him too aware of the things he’s trying very, very hard to ignore.

Luckily, he doesn’t have time to linger this morning. Normally he has at least an extra forty-five minutes before he has to be out the door for work after Blaine leaves. This morning, he should’ve left with Blaine, but he wants to allow for a little time and distance so that he doesn’t raise suspicion by not taking his normal subway route. He waits five minutes and twenty-seven seconds, takes thirty seconds to rinse his mug out, shrug into his coat, and grab his own briefcase full of designs before heading out the door.

Thirty minutes on the subway, thirty minutes in the waiting room. He uses three pumps of the hand sanitizer next to the desk every ten minutes and organizes the magazines on one of the tables alphabetically. There’s only two other people in the waiting room this early in the morning, a little boy and his mother sitting on the other end of the room. The boy is sick, nose red and eyes drooping as he curls into his mother’s side. Kurt’s reminded so much of himself at that age, attached to his parents in times of need. And there’s a small part of him that sees his future sitting across from him.

He just doesn’t want his blood in someone else’s veins.

“Anderson-Hummel?”

Kurt inhales sharply and pushes himself to his feet, following the dark-haired nurse who introduces herself as Laura to an exam room. Once he settles onto the exam table, the nurse glances at his file. “So,” she says brightly, “getting blood drawn today?” Kurt nods, hands fidgeting in his lap. “Have you ever had it done before?”

“Um, once,” Kurt answers distractedly. “Just to test for allergies when I was younger.”

“Okay,” Laura says agreeably. “And this time they’ll be looking at PSA levels and white cell count, correct?”

“Yeah,” he says, inhaling sharply.

“And have you had sex in the last twenty-four hours?”

“No,” Kurt sighs, trying not to think of Blaine’s lips on his skin the night before. “Can we just... get this over with?”

She looks up at him sympathetically. “Not a fan of needles?”

“Needles I don’t mind,” Kurt dismisses. “I just... don’t like the waiting. I don’t like the anxiety that comes with it.”

“Well, remember, this is just a screening,” Laura reminds him. “You don’t have any reason to be anxious yet.”

“Yeah, that doesn’t really help,” Kurt huffs.

“O-kay, get it over with, got it,” she says thinly. “Roll up your sleeve for me, please.”

He tries to be methodical about it. Unbutton his sleeve, roll it up, let her tie off his upper arm with a tourniquet. Find the veins, make a fist, apply alcohol, insert the needle into the vein and... watch himself bleed.

It doesn’t take very long for her to collect the samples she needs, but he still feels vulnerable all the same, even when she removes the tourniquet and tells him to relax his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I’m not trying to take it out on you.”

“I understand,” she says gently, placing gauze over the puncture site and removing the needle. “There’s a reason you’re getting screened so young. Apply some pressure for me.”

“You know I’m not even thirty yet?” he tells her, pressing his fingers to the gauze and watching as she starts to clean up. “My birthday’s not until the end of the month.”

“So why jump the gun?” she inquires.

“I don’t know,” Kurt sighs. “I guess I just didn’t want it looming over my head the whole month, you know? I just wanted to --”

“-- get it over with?” Laura supplies for him, corner of her mouth twitching up into a smile.

“Exactly,” Kurt laughs, even though there’s nothing remotely funny about the situation. She tapes the gauze down once he’s stopped bleeding and instructs him to wait at least fifteen minutes to take it off. He rolls his sleeve back down while she finishes cleaning up, buttoning his sleeve with care. “How... long?” he asks hesitantly. “How long do I have to wait for the results?”

“A week, maybe?” she guesses. “The lab will be running multiple tests and they’re almost always backed up. Someone from the office will call when your results are in.”

“And if it’s more than a week?” Kurt pries.

“You call us,” she suggests, casting him a warm smile, “and we’ll see what the holdup is.”

He crosses the threshold of the office door at 8:30, and Kurt tries not to think of his mother.

*****

He starts marathoning his library of powerhouse women in television history when he gets home from work just to keep him preoccupied. He starts off with _Murder She Wrote_ , which is probably a little too morbid at times to start the month off with, but his mentality doesn’t change. He’d rather just get it over with. Blaine keeps warning him not to watch late into the night but Kurt doesn’t listen, and he pays for it on Wednesday night. He’s itching to crawl out of his skin when Blaine sleepily kisses him goodnight at 11:30 (one, two, three), uncomfortable and mind full of death. He ends up staying up well into the middle of the night, but he curls up on the couch and switches to _Designing Women_ for a change of pace.

His dreams are full of ballpoint pens and the sharp point of a knife and the barrel of a gun and shoulder pads.

Blaine’s voice wakes him.

“Kurt, wake up.”

He blinks tiredly into awareness and groans, curling closer to the throw pillow. “Why are you up so early?”

“I’m not,” Blaine says gently. “I need to leave for work. You fell asleep on the couch. I let you sleep in -- I figured you were up late.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kurt yawns, rubbing at his eyes sleepily.

“I’m going to be nice and not say I told you so,” Blaine laughs, leaning down to drop a kiss to Kurt’s forehead. “I made you coffee.”

“Knew there was a reason I married you,” Kurt mumbles, nuzzling his face against Blaine’s sweater. Blaine’s hand anchors in his hair and Kurt takes a moment to breathe in deep and enjoy it. He’s defaulted to one of two moods lately -- anxious or preoccupied. He hasn’t really allowed himself to enjoy much of anything in the last couple of weeks. It hasn’t felt right. But here, in Blaine’s arms, Kurt feels as safe as he ever has.

He wishes it would last.

It doesn’t.

Blaine pulls away, kisses him goodbye and urges him to start getting ready for work, and Kurt is left once again to silence.

*****

He gets the call on Friday the tenth, an hour before lunch, to come in at four to discuss results. He skips lunch and sketches idly for the rest of the afternoon, designs full of sky blue and satin and silk and sleeves. He leaves the office at 3:30 with three twists of the ring on his left hand and ends up organizing the pamphlets in the waiting room at the doctor’s office just to keep his hands busy.

He feels awkward when he sits on the exam table to wait some more, too tall and long-limbed and big for the space. He shifts constantly, the paper underneath him wrinkling with each movement, and he ends up having to sit on his hands just so he doesn’t start to tear it to pieces.

Doctor Rangford comes in at exactly 4:30, and Kurt wishes he could twist his ring.

“I’m not going to drag this out,” Doctor Rangford says, and Kurt finds himself exhaling, grateful to have the waiting at an end. “There were some... abnormalities in your blood work.”

“Abnormalities,” Kurt echoes faintly, hands gripping the edge of the exam table under his legs.

“Your PSA levels are a little more elevated than I’d like,” Doctor Rangford explains. “But that could mean any number of things, Kurt. There could be something going on with your prostate, but it could also be something else -- a urinary tract infection or a false positive or --”

“-- or it could be prostate cancer.”

Silence.

Kurt breathes in and closes his eyes, swallowing thickly.

“It could be,” Doctor Rangford allows. “It’d be unusual in someone your age. I can’t tell you what it is without further tests, Kurt.”

“So what now?” Kurt asks, willing his brain to stay on track. “A biopsy?”

“No,” Doctor Rangford says. “Another blood test to confirm, a urine test to rule out any other possibilities. A biopsy is premature right now.” A pause, and then, “I know you’re anxious, Kurt.”

“Don’t,” Kurt snaps, opening his eyes. “Don’t tell me I don’t have any reason to be anxious, okay? It’s not going to make me less anxious.” He sighs and rubs his hand over his face, trying to collect himself. He doesn’t like losing control like this. “Okay, so what,” he says, trying to be patient, “you need me to pee in a cup? Give you more blood?”

“Yes,” Doctor Rangford says gently, handing him the cup. “I’ll send a nurse in to take a second sample from you in a little bit, okay?” They both move to stand at the same time, but Doctor Rangford blocks Kurt’s path to the bathroom. “I know you were asked this last time, but I have to ask again --”

“No sex in the last twenty-four hours,” Kurt affirms, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

One foot in front of the other, one step at a time. Out the door, down the hallway, into the bathroom. Lights on, door locked, pants unzipped, dick in hand. The room is (almost) silent as he fills the cup.

Kurt closes his eyes, counts to thirty, and tries not to fall apart at the seams.

*****

Kurt starts to unravel.

He hates this, hates the waiting and the not knowing but possibly knowing, hates feeling tainted and incompetent. He hates not having any control over the outcome of the results, how long he’ll have to wait for them. All he has control over is what he does in the interim, and he feels himself slipping with each additional day that he has to wait.

He starts working late just to keep his brain and hands occupied while he’s awake. It means he sees even less of Blaine, who’s busy preparing for the end-of-year play and report cards for parent-teacher conferences. It also means that when they do see each other, it’s rare enough that both of them feel it acutely. Kurt is hyper-aware of what he says and what he does with Blaine around. It’s fine if he wears a pair of light blue socks every day if he’s the one to do the laundry, and it’s fine if Kurt spends his alone time at home alphabetizing and color-coding and reorganizing because Blaine isn’t there to see it. Kurt doubts he’ll even notice.

And while Kurt is unraveling at the seams, Blaine seems like he’s ready to explode. He’s always full of energy at the end of the school year, busy and vibrating and running on caffeine. But Kurt knows that they haven’t had sex in twenty-three days, and he can tell that Blaine is definitely feeling the loss.

This, at least, is something Kurt can control. He may not feel like having sex, not with the tests and the possibilities and his birthday coming up, but it’s clear that Blaine does, and if Kurt can keep his husband in a good mood and from asking too many questions, it might soothe his own frayed nerves.

So on Wednesday, when they’re both lounging on the couch after dinner, Kurt’s legs draped across Blaine’s lap, it’s hard not to feel like he should do something to ease the tension (and he hates that, too, the fact that all of this withholding information and sullen behavior has caused tension between them). He can feel the beginnings of Blaine’s erection under his legs, but Blaine doesn’t ask for anything. He sits still, hands resting warmly on top of Kurt’s legs, eyes trained on the television.

Kurt flexes his fingers and moves his legs off of Blaine’s lap before he does something he’ll regret. He’s on the floor and on his knees between Blaine’s legs in an instant, hands working deftly to undo Blaine’s jeans. Blaine hardly has time to react before Kurt closes a hand around the base of his cock and sinks his mouth down over the head, trying to bring Blaine to full hardness. Blaine gasps, hands sinking into Kurt’s hair in an attempt to find purchase. Kurt relishes in the soft, quiet moans that leave Blaine’s mouth as his cock starts to harden and fill Kurt’s mouth. Kurt hums in satisfaction as he drags his mouth up and --

\-- and then Blaine’s hand is gripping his shoulder and pushing him off, and Kurt has to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand to catch the spit. “Don’t,” Blaine gasps, clearly struggling to hold back.

Kurt arches an eyebrow and tries to move in close again. “You don’t _want_ me to give you head?” he teases.

“Not like this,” Blaine says, applying more pressure to Kurt’s shoulder. “Not out of obligation.” Kurt narrows his eyes, ready to protest, but Blaine’s hand is firm and unrelenting. “You think I haven’t noticed?” Blaine says quietly, meeting his eyes. “You think I don’t know that it’s been over three weeks? You think I haven’t noticed that we’ve hardly seen each other lately and that you’ve been distant?” Kurt exhales sharply through his nose and tries ducking his head again. If he can just get his mouth back on Blaine, then -- “ _No_ ,” Blaine says firmly, pushing him away. “I don’t want you to do this because you feel like you have to or because you think it’ll make me feel better.” Kurt goes with the push and rocks back onto his haunches, palms settling flat on top of his thighs. He can’t bring himself to look at Blaine in the face and he can’t get his hands to stop shaking. Blaine awkwardly tucks himself back inside of his pants and zips himself up.

If Kurt doesn’t have control over anything, he’s going to fall apart, and that’s not an option right now.

He climbs back onto the couch without another word and tucks himself under Blaine’s arm and against his side, exhaling slowly. “Just... stay here with me for a little while, okay?”

Blaine doesn’t shy away from the gesture. He tugs Kurt closer, actually, as his breathing evens out again, and drops a kiss to Kurt’s head. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” It’s a half-truth, one he’s comfortable leaving as such. He’s not ready to tell Blaine about what’s already transpired, and until the second set of results come in, there really might not be anything to talk about. _This_ is why Kurt’s kept his mouth shut for the last three weeks. He doesn’t want to make Blaine anxious over nothing, not until Kurt’s sure that there’s something worth being anxious about. It’s hypocritical, he knows, because he’s taking the exact opposite approach to the whole situation. But it’s different. It’s his life, not Blaine’s, his body and his genes and his potentially faulty manufacturing. Kurt can’t escape from it, but he doesn’t have to subject Blaine to it just yet.

Blaine draws a large breath like he’s readying himself to argue, but he doesn’t. He just tugs Kurt closer and tightens his grip on Kurt’s arm.

Kurt starts to unravel, and Blaine holds the fabric in his hands.

*****

It’s a Tuesday when he hears the word ‘negative.’

“What do you mean ‘negative’?” Kurt asks.

“I mean negative as in there’s nothing there,” Doctor Rangford sighs. “Your second set of results didn’t turn up anything. There was nothing abnormal in your blood work or your urine sample.”

“I don’t understand,” Kurt says, shaking his head. “What does that mean?”

“It could mean one of two things,” Doctor Rangford explains patiently. “Either the first test was a false positive and the second test was accurate, or the second test was a false negative and the first test was accurate.”

“So which is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Kurt flops back on the exam table and stares at the ceiling. “So what does this mean? More tests?”

“More tests,” Doctor Rangford affirms. “We need to figure out if there’s actually anything to worry about before we take more drastic measures.” Kurt closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to calm himself. “I know you’re anxious, Kurt. I know your family history. I know that’s why you wanted to get screened so early --”

“I was _advised_ to get screened once I hit thirty,” Kurt counters, but there’s no real bite to his words.

“Kurt, just because both of your parents had cancer doesn’t mean you will,” Doctor Rangford says gently. “Part of the reason most people don’t get tested this young is because of mixed results like this. Sometimes people jump the gun. Sometimes they perform unnecessary tests and are too aggressive in treatments. Sometimes it does more harm than good.”

“And what’s the alternative?” Kurt says, propping himself up on his elbows to look at his physician. “Not screening? What if I am sick? What if I am and I waited to even find out, much less do anything about it? What good would that do me?” He sits up the rest of the way and trains his gaze on his lap. “They found it too late, with my mom,” he says quietly. “It all happened so _fast_ , and I don’t --” He bites his lip and tries to breathe evenly. He _is_ falling apart now, even with negative results, and he’s almost too tired to care. “My dad was so scared while we were waiting to find out if his treatment had worked. And that’s -- that’s not him, you know? He’s always been the rock of the family. He kept everything and everyone together. And I just -- I keep thinking about what I’ll have to do if I end up in his shoes. I’ll have to keep myself together while everyone else falls apart.”

“Kurt --”

“Just give me the cup,” Kurt says reaching out a hand and snapping his fingers impatiently. “I just want to get this over with.”

Doctor Rangford doesn’t oblige. “Have you... told anyone you’re getting screened?” he ventures.

“No,” Kurt says thinly.

“Not even your husband?”

“ _No_ ,” Kurt snaps. “Not my father or my husband or my best friend. As far as I’m concerned, right now, there’s nothing to tell.”

“And if there is?”

“That’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

*****

He switches to _The Golden Girls_ , after that. He can only reorganize everything in the apartment so many times, and out of all of his powerhouse women in television, it’s Dorothy and Sophia and Blanche and Rose who bring him the most comfort, spry in their old age and able to overcome just about anything. His OCD shifts into insomnia, and for the next two nights, he doesn’t get more than a few hours of sleep.

Blaine finds him on the couch Thursday night -- well, Friday morning, really, around two o’ clock, a little more than halfway through the first season. “Kurt?” he ventures tiredly, rubbing at his eyes. “Kurt, it’s two in the morning, come to bed.”

“Can’t sleep,” Kurt says quietly, curling around the couch pillow. It’s a poor substitute for Bruce, whom he got rid of a long time ago. Then again, Bruce was always a poor substitute for Blaine, and Blaine’s here now. Slowly, Kurt glances over his shoulder at his sleepy husband and reaches out a hand. “Come lie down with me.”

“You’d be more comfortable in bed,” Blaine argues, stifling a yawn behind his hand.

“Please?” It’s all Kurt has the energy for, more than three weeks into this, and he doesn’t want to fall apart on his own. If Blaine can keep him together now, Kurt can keep him together later.

Blaine’s face softens at the request but he still looks confused, curious, concerned. He doesn’t ask any questions, though, and moves to join Kurt on the couch. Kurt shifts to make room for him, letting Blaine wedge himself between the couch and Kurt’s back. Kurt tugs Blaine’s arm around him and snuggles in close before turning his attention back to the television.

Blaine falls back asleep at some point during the current episode, but Kurt doesn’t mind. He stays tucked under Blaine’s arm through another three episodes, surprised to find himself growing a little sleepier with each one. Blaine is warm and solid and so _sure_ around him, and Kurt takes comfort in the fact that this, at least, is something that won’t change, that this is something -- someone he can rely on. His eyelids start to droop around 3:30, but he has enough presence of mind to twist his wedding band around his finger three times while Dorothy prepares herself for minor surgery.

His eyes snap open when her hospital roommate starts talking, though, and Kurt finds himself wide awake as she tells her story. He’d almost forgotten about her, the woman who’d been struggling with breast cancer, and it’s not until she’s off screen and in surgery that Kurt even realizes he’s crying.

“Kurt?” Blaine mumbles against his neck. Kurt inhales sharply but can’t _stop_ , his body trembling as he cries quietly. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

But Kurt shakes his head and doesn’t let Blaine turn Kurt to face him. Instead, he tugs Blaine’s arm closer and kisses the back of his hand. “Please just... stay with me.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says, a little more awake now. “Baby, you’re starting to scare me. What --”

“ _Please_ ,” Kurt chokes out, unable to ask for much more.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Blaine promises, curling in close. “It’s okay.”

Kurt doesn’t have to say anything for both of them to know that it’s not.

*****

By the time the sun comes up on Sunday morning, Kurt is exhausted. He left the studio early on Friday and came home to Blaine, _The Golden Girls_ , and six boxes of takeout. They haven’t even _done_ anything all weekend, but Kurt has nothing left to give. He’s still waiting on answers; it hasn’t even been a week since his third round of tests, but the waiting has taken everything out of him. It’s day twenty-six of waiting, twenty-six out of thirty-one and tomorrow’s the twenty-seventh and then he’ll _actually_ be thirty and --

 _Fuck_ , he needs a shower.

Slowly, he drags himself out from under Blaine’s arm and shuffles to the bathroom. He rests his forehead against the tile as the water beats down on him and closes his eyes. He’s tired and he feels so old and he’s not even thirty and he has no idea if he has cancer and --

“Still want me to stay?”

Kurt relaxes at the sound of Blaine’s voice and holds out a hand wordlessly in assent and invitation. Blaine climbs into the shower behind him, hand resting gently on Kurt’s shoulder. “We don’t have to --”

“No,” Kurt says sharply, opening his eyes and flexing his fingers against the wall. He turns and reclines against the tile, meeting Blaine’s eyes and -- _oh_. Blaine is breathtaking like this, wet and naked, hair askew and eyes warm and Kurt has _missed_ him. He reaches a hand out to pull Blaine closer, reveling in how good his husband feels even when he’s approaching thirty.

Thirty.

Kurt sucks in a breath and tugs Blaine into a kiss, digging his nails into Blaine’s scalp and back. Blaine moans softly against his lips, hands curling around Kurt’s hips down to his ass. “Mmm, wait, wait, wait,” Blaine gasps, trying to pull away a little. “Kurt, are you sure --”

“ _Yes_ ,” Kurt gasps, tugging Blaine flush against him. “This is the first time in over a month I have even remotely felt like having sex. Please don’t tell me that you don’t want --”

“Of course I want you,” Blaine breathes, covering Kurt’s mouth with his own. “You’ve just been... off all month, and I didn’t know how -- I didn’t want --”

“I really, _really_ don’t want to be thirty,” Kurt admits. “And I really, really don’t want to explain why. I just want you, okay?”

“You have me,” Blaine promises, nosing along the column of Kurt’s throat. “Part of my vows, remember? Richer or poorer, wrinkles or gray hair --”

“Pretty sure you just made that up,” Kurt laughs, dragging his nails down the back of Blaine’s neck.

“--better or worse,” Blaine continues, nipping at Kurt’s earlobe with a laugh, “in sickness and in health --”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Kurt murmurs, dragging Blaine’s lips up to meet his own. Blaine angles his head a little to fit their lips together better. Kurt moans softly and melts against him. _God_ , he’s missed this. He’s missed the ease of romance and touch. He’s been so _stressed_ for the last month and hasn’t let himself fully relax around Blaine. Blaine rocks against Kurt’s hip, hard now, and Kurt grabs his ass to keep him close.

Kurt has nothing left to give, so he takes.

He rocks up against Blaine, adjusting their position so that their cocks rub against each other. The friction is raw and perfect against his skin, and even though Blaine tears his lips away to suck at Kurt’s neck again, Kurt can think of nothing but how _good_ it all feels. He drops his forehead against Blaine’s shoulder and closes his eyes, breath hitching higher as he chases an orgasm that’s sure to come quickly after over a month of celibacy. He tightens his hold on Blaine’s ass and pulls him impossibly closer, bucking his own hips against Blaine’s hard and fast and dirty. Blaine picks up speed, grip tight enough on Kurt’s hips that Kurt’s almost certain he’ll bruise a little, and fucks Kurt against the wall, groans muffled against Kurt’s skin. Kurt opens his eyes, watching the way the muscles in Blaine’s arm and shoulder move, the way the water cascades down over his back and down. Kurt’s so _close_ , he just needs a little more -- he pushes Blaine’s hip away a little to try and make a grab for his own cock, but Blaine’s hand is there first, fast and rough against Kurt’s skin. Kurt throws his head back and hits the tile with a quiet _thwack_ , groaning as Blaine works him over. He braces both hands on Blaine’s shoulders and squeezes his eyes shut as he struggles to catch his breath in the building steam. Blaine crowds in close again, presses his lips right against Kurt’s ear and murmurs Kurt’s name and -- 

Kurt unravels.

And it feels so, _so_ good.

Blaine thrusts weakly at Kurt’s hip, cock slipping to the juncture between the top of Kurt’s thigh and his pelvis. Kurt uses his grip on Blaine’s shoulders to tug Blaine into a messy kiss. Blaine’s hand slips away from Kurt’s cock, hand sticky with come, and he smacks his hand against the shower wall hard, muscles in his arm straining. “Baby,” Blaine breathes. “Baby, I --” Kurt kisses him quiet, and Blaine comes across Kurt’s stomach, smacking the wall hard again as he does. Blaine breaks the kiss and hangs his head, both of them panting as the water starts to turn tepid.

Kurt can’t stand.

His legs are trembling from exertion and he feels himself unravelling again, the endorphins not enough to keep him together. He hates this, he _hates_ it, because he wanted this, wanted sex and wanted Blaine and wanted to feel _normal_ but he _can’t_. He feels too alive and too aware of his own skin and his own mortality, unhinged. His heart is _hammering_ inside of his chest, and all Kurt can think is _what if it stops beating_?

It takes Blaine gathering Kurt in his arms for Kurt to even realize that he’s turned the water off. “It’s okay,” Blaine murmurs. “I’ve got you.” Kurt rests his cheek against Blaine’s shoulder and exhales slowly. It’s not supposed to be like this. Kurt isn’t supposed to be falling apart. Blaine isn’t supposed to be keeping him together. Kurt is supposed to be strong enough to keep them both together.

Maybe it’s okay that he can’t be.

Kurt closes his eyes as Blaine presses a kiss to his temple, and he wishes more than ever that things could be like this always. But they can’t, at least not right now. It might not be in the cards for Kurt’s life -- for _their_ lives to be this... simple, this easy all of the time.

It is _their_ lives, isn’t it? Not just his own. As much as Kurt has been aware of the fact that this could potentially change his life as well as Blaine’s, and his dad’s, and Rachel’s and everyone else’s, it hasn’t occurred to him until now just how much it might affect them. Kurt isn’t -- has never been -- alone in this. He feels almost stupid, really; he’s a _designer_ and he’s been orchestrating everything in the last month so that he goes through it alone. And this -- this _thing_ that might be happening to him, it’s a design flaw he has no control over, no matter how hard he tries to pretend otherwise. All this time, he’s felt like it’s something he has to take care of on his own, but he doesn’t.

Blaine holds him together, and Kurt finally really _lets_ him.

*****

Kurt’s birthday is on a Monday.

He tries, very hard, not to behave like Garfield.

Blaine wakes him up early with a kiss and breakfast in bed but never actually says “Happy Birthday,” something Kurt finds himself grateful for. He manages to get through most of the work day without anyone in the studio saying anything (he’s not sure they know, actually, but then again, he’s still just starting out and he’s not sure all of his employees are all that comfortable around him just yet). Still, the occasion doesn’t go entirely unobserved: Rachel sends him a bouquet of lilies with a card full of sentiment and a standing dinner invitation, and Isabelle messengers over a stunning vest from Adrian Pleasanton’s new collection. He receives a few texts, and he’s pretty sure there’s going to be a package from his dad waiting for him when he gets home, but all in all, the day is mostly... quiet.

Quiet hasn’t exactly been his friend, lately. Still, he’d prefer this over the huge party Blaine and Rachel had been planning. There would have been so many people and too many things to distract him and so much noise that he couldn’t think straight. And as much as Kurt hates the silence he’s been surrounded by for the last month, its chaotic opposite wouldn’t do him any favors either.

Blaine’s whole face lights up when Kurt walks in the door at the end of the day. He immediately crosses the room to take the flowers out of Kurt’s arms, dropping a kiss to Kurt’s cheek before heading back to the kitchen to find a vase for the flowers. “Who are the flowers from?”

“Rachel,” Kurt sighs, setting the box from Isabelle down on the table. He sinks down into a chair and watches as Blaine arranges the lilies in a crystal vase. Blaine’s eyes are warm, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Kurt relaxes a little, propping his head up on his hand.

“What’s in the box?”

“Adrian Pleasanton,” Kurt tells him, “courtesy of Isabelle.” Blaine smiles at him, but the light in his eyes dims a little. “What?”

Blaine just shakes his head and nods towards the other end of the table. “Your dad sent you something.”

Kurt sighs and reaches for it. “I knew he would.” He accepts the scissors Blaine offers him to open the box, digging around the packing material before unearthing his first prize. He stares blankly at it for a moment, Blaine’s expression matching his, before they both burst out laughing.

“Do you want to explain why your dad sent you a box of condoms for your birthday?” Blaine laughs.

Kurt buries his head in his hands. “Remember the sex talk?” Blaine makes an assenting noise. “It was -- he joked about this, about waiting until I was thirty to have sex. He said it’d be a great gift to myself.” He lifts his head and toys with the box. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with these. We haven’t used any in a long time.”

Blaine arches an eyebrow and grins at him. “I’m sure we’ll think of something,” he says dryly. Kurt rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the package, digging a little farther. He unearths the mug, unable to do much more than run his fingers over the letters and _stare_ at it. “What’s it say?”

“ _World’s Greatest Dad_ ,” Kurt says softly. “I got him one ages ago. I --” Kurt shakes his head and sets the mug down. “I remember a couple of years ago, he asked about kids. I told him we wanted to wait until after we hit thirty. I --” Kurt closes his eyes and exhales sharply, suddenly overwhelmed.

“Hey,” Blaine says gently. His hand lands on Kurt’s knee and Kurt knows Blaine’s kneeling in front of him now. “It’s okay, Kurt. We don’t -- I’m not even thirty yet, I’m not in any rush, we can wait.”

“That’s not --” Kurt inhales sharply and shakes his head, opening his eyes and forcing a smile. “Nevermind.”

Blaine doesn’t look like he wants to let the issue go, but he doesn’t push, just like he hasn’t all month, and Kurt finds himself gripping Blaine’s hand tightly in gratitude. “So,” Blaine ventures after a moment, “am I allowed to give you a present?”

Kurt sighs dramatically. “I would say yes on the condition that you don’t make a big production out of it, but then I remember that this is you we’re talking about, so...”

“So... I’ll take that as a yes?” Blaine guesses hopefully.

“Go ahead,” Kurt laughs, propping his chin up with his hand and smiling bemusedly at his husband.

“I just wanted to make sure,” Blaine defends, pushing himself to his feet to retrieve his gift. “You said you didn’t really want to celebrate.”

“As long as your gift isn’t a huge party, I think I’ll be okay.”

Blaine offers him a smile before sinking down in the chair across from him, gift wrapped in light blue with a perfect bow on top. It’s small and thin and Kurt has no idea what it is, but he finds himself relaxing at the color of the paper. “I had a little help with this,” Blaine admits sheepishly, handing it to him. “But I did the revisions myself.”

“Are you regifting?” Kurt asks, untying the bow.

“Just open it,” Blaine laughs.

So Kurt does, fingers carefully pulling apart the taped paper before setting it aside. He pries open the box and stares at the contents inside, breathless. His hand is trembling as he reaches out to ghost his fingers over it. “My mom had one just like this,” he breathes, too afraid to touch it.

“Actually...”

Kurt snaps his head up, unable to keep his eyes from watering. “My dad gave this to you?”

Blaine nods and scoots his chair in a little closer. “I cleaned it up a little, made sure it wouldn’t break, things like that. Did he ever tell you the story behind it?” Kurt shakes his head. “He got it for your mom’s thirtieth,” Blaine explains, and Kurt looks back down at the hand mirror, unable to keep himself from touching it reverently. It’s been so _long_ since he’s seen this. “She’d just found out that she was pregnant with you, and your dad was worried that she’d take it all a little hard, you know? She was getting older and her body was going to change while she was pregnant.”

“So what?” Kurt laughs wetly, “he got her the mirror to make her feel better? How did that work?”

Blaine beams. “It was a little symbolic, I think,” Blaine admits. “He wanted her to see herself the way he saw her, no matter how much her reflection changed.”

Kurt smiles. “Sounds like him.”

Blaine reaches out and gently lifts the mirror a little, turning it around to the back. There’s a latch there, one that Kurt had never noticed before, but before he can move to unhook it, Blaine’s hand is there, preventing him. “Your dad had this made,” Blaine explains. “Turn it around, unhook the back, and she’d see a photo of them on their wedding day.”

“How he saw her,” Kurt echoes faintly, and this time, when he goes to unhook the latch, Blaine doesn’t stop him. The back slides away on its hinge and there’s the picture Blaine had mentioned, Kurt’s parents on their wedding day, but it’s not the only one. There’s a photo from their own wedding nine years ago, Kurt and Blaine’s, nestled in next to the other photograph. It’s Blaine’s favorite, Kurt knows, because it shows Kurt smiling with teeth, eyes wrinkling at the corner as Blaine beams at him. Kurt traces the shape of his mother’s face, her smile and then his father’s. Kurt is struck, then, with his own mortality, and he finds himself unable to keep the tears at bay any longer. He wipes at his eyes furiously, careful not to let any tears drop onto the photographs, and pushes the box back onto the table.

“Honey,” Blaine says softly, moving closer and pulling Kurt into his arms. “It wasn’t supposed to make you cry.”

Kurt lets himself cry into Blaine’s shoulder, just for a moment, before he gathers himself and pulls back, wiping at his eyes. “I’m fine,” he says thickly. “I just -- thank you. I really love it.”

Blaine doesn’t look entirely convinced but he lets it go, hand resting warm and reassuring on Kurt’s knee. “There’s a casserole in the oven,” Blaine informs him, “but I’d be willing to let you invoke birthday privileges and eat the two cheesecakes in the fridge first.”

Kurt offers him a weak smile and presses a kiss to Blaine’s lips. “I knew there was a reason I married you.”

“You know,” Blaine muses, moving to take down plates from the cupboard, “you tend to say that when there’s food involved.”

Kurt moves the boxes onto a nearby chair. “The only cure for loneliness is cake,” Kurt reminds him. “But since I’m not lonely, it’ll have to cure something else.”

“Cheesecake’s not going to make you any younger, Kurt,” Blaine laughs, bringing everything over to the table.

Kurt picks up a fork and digs into the chocolate one. “No,” he sighs, “it’s not.”

Blaine hesitates before portioning off a piece for himself. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”

Kurt hesitates, fork hovering over the cheesecakes, before he takes another bite. “Not tonight,” he says. “But if you’re up for it, I’d... really like to repeat our shower escapades from yesterday. While I still can.”

Blaine barks out a laugh and shakes his head. “I’m pretty sure turning thirty doesn’t mean you’re not going to be able to have sex anymore, Kurt.”

Kurt picks up another forkful. “I just wanted to make sure,” he says carefully. “You’ve turned down sex recently.”

“To be fair,” Blaine argues, “so have you.”

Kurt freezes up a little again, fork hanging loosely in his grip. “I’m not, anymore,” he promises quietly. “I just -- I’m letting myself be happy about things for right now, okay? Can that be enough?” He glances back up at Blaine, who still (always) looks like he wants to press the issue, like he knows there’s more to the story, but still, he doesn’t ask, just nods. Kurt drops his fork to the plate with a loud clatter and rushes forward, pressing his lips against Blaine’s firmly.

Blaine lets out a surprised _oomph_ but braces his hands against Kurt’s torso, just shy of pulling him close. “Oh,” Blaine breathes. “Now?”

“Mmhmm,” Kurt mumbles, tugging Blaine’s shirt out of his pants and tossing it aside.

“Oh -- oh,” Blaine huffs, clumsily following Kurt’s lead as Kurt drags them both down to the floor. “Sex on the kitchen floor? Really?”

“Shut _up_ ,” Kurt chuckles, tugging his own shirt off.

“We should put the cheesecake away --”

“Blaine,” Kurt sighs, resting on his elbows as Blaine hovers precariously over him, “I’m losing wood over here.”

“Well we can’t have that,” Blaine muses, leaning in for a kiss.

Kurt hums against Blaine’s lips and tugs Blaine closer. Kurt’s back hits the cold tile, and he can’t help smiling against Blaine’s mouth. “I think we found a use for the condoms.” Blaine snorts with laughter before moving his lips down, trailing kisses all down Kurt’s torso on his way to unbutton Kurt’s pants.

For the first time in a month, Kurt feels dirty, but not tainted.

*****

It ends on a Tuesday.

The twenty-eighth, to be exact.

Kurt gets sent home with a clean bill of health, but he doesn’t feel brand new. He feels like he’s been put through a wash and dry cycle a few times, a little worn and frayed around the edges, but still all in one piece. He’s -- oh god, he’s a scarf, and he actually has to sink down on the steps outside of their building because he doubles over in laughter. God, it feels good to laugh this way.

He opens the front door with a smile, but it quickly falls at the sight of what’s waiting for him.

Blaine’s sitting on the couch, too-still and quiet, eyes trained on the coffee table. Kurt follows his gaze to the two plastic containers resting there, the ones he’s been keeping his light blue socks in, one labelled _new_ , the other _worn_. Blaine lifts his eyes to meet Kurt’s as the door clicks shut behind him. “We need to talk.” Kurt sets his briefcase down, taking a second to breathe and think and figure out how to react, but Blaine doesn’t let him. “I gave you space, Kurt. I tried not to push. I didn’t make you talk about what was bothering you. I cancelled the party. I even --” He laughs humorlessly and cards a hand through his hair. “I even tried ignoring some of the signs that your OCD was flaring up again. I pretended not to notice that you’d gone beyond organizing and color coding and had started alphabetizing. Books and magazines and films weren’t such a big deal. The food in the kitchen and the products in the bathroom? Those were, but I still didn’t say anything. I figured you’d talk to me when you were ready.” He looks back at the containers, shoulders falling. “But this? This is where I draw the line, Kurt. This is when I know that something is really, really wrong. And I’m not letting it go.” He looks back up at Kurt, eyes a little glassy, and exhales sharply through his nose. “ _Talk_ to me, Kurt.”

And now that he has something to tell, Kurt does.

He crosses the room and sinks down on the couch next to Blaine, resting his head against the back of the couch with a sigh. He takes a moment to collect himself, noticing how tense Blaine is beside him, before leaning over to rest his head on Blaine’s shoulder. The gesture reaches Blaine, who unfolds his arms and relaxes just a little. “Most men don’t start getting screened for prostate cancer until they’re fifty, you know.”

Blaine tenses up a little again, but it’s not as bad as it was before. “And you’re not most men?”

Kurt shakes his head. “It’s forty for men who have a close relative who had it.”

“Kurt,” Blaine says gently, “that’s still a decade away.”

“It’s not,” Kurt says quietly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Not for me. I was... advised -- and I wanted -- to get screened earlier, because of my mom, you know? It was another kind of cancer, with her, but because of how serious and severe it was, I had physicians recommending that I start getting screened when I hit --”

“-- thirty,” Blaine supplies for him. Blaine’s quiet for a moment before he exhales long and slow, shifting so that Kurt has to sit up properly and so that they can face each other.

“You’re still mad at me, aren’t you?”

“No,” Blaine insists, reaching for his hand. “I was never mad at you, Kurt. I just -- I didn’t know what was wrong. You weren’t talking and I wasn’t asking and I didn’t know how to help you and --” He stops, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I wish you’d told me sooner, but I can understand why you didn’t.” He adjusts their hands, gripping tighter, and tucks one leg under the other. “You don’t have to go through this alone, okay? You can call and make an appointment and I’ll go with you --”

“I... already did,” Kurt cuts in hesitantly.

Blaine looks a little taken aback by that, but he doesn’t pull away. “Okay,” he says agreeably. “When is it?”

“No,” Kurt says slowly, “I mean I already had tests done.”

Blaine blinks, clearly confused. “Your birthday was yesterday --”

“I’ve been having tests done all month.”

There’s disbelief on Blaine’s face, disbelief and hurt and maybe a tiny bit of outrage. It makes Kurt uncomfortable, but he stands his ground and takes comfort in the fact that Blaine still hasn’t let go of his hand. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I had blood work done at the beginning of the month,” Kurt confesses. Jaw falling open a little, Blaine is seemingly at a loss for words, and Kurt takes advantage of his silence to keep going. “There were... abnormalities in the first results.”

And just like that, Kurt can see it all shift into perspective for Blaine. He instantly goes from looking a little betrayed to concerned, _worried_ , and Kurt’s one saving grace is that he has more of the story to tell. Blaine may have to go through several reactions and emotions in a short period of time, but Kurt prefers it that way. At least he’ll get it over with. “Abnormalities?” Blaine echoes quietly.

“Elevated PSA levels,” Kurt elaborates. “They wouldn’t do more extensive testing without confirmation, though.”

“So, what, more tests? More blood work?”

Kurt nods. “And a urine sample.”

“And?” Blaine prompts.

“And nothing,” Kurt sighs. “Second set of results were negative. And they didn’t know if that meant that the first set was a false positive or if the second set was a false negative.”

“So more tests,” Blaine guesses.

Another nod, but Kurt can finally feel himself starting to relax, and he adjusts his hand in Blaine’s, running his thumb across Blaine’s knuckles. “Results came in today. I’m fine -- I’m _fine_ ,” he insists. “Everything was negative, there’s nothing wrong.”

Kurt can see the tension melt out of Blaine’s shoulders. He’s clearly relieved at the news, but it’s not all gone; Blaine is obviously still agitated, evident in the way he tugs his hand away and runs a hand over his face. “Why didn’t you _tell me_?” Blaine asks. “Why would you keep something like this from me? Kurt, I’m your husband, I --”

“Believe it or not, this was really more about me than it was about you,” Kurt interjects. Blaine raises his eyebrows expectantly. Kurt sighs and leans against the back of the couch again. “I got it into my head that I had to keep myself together,” he explains. “I figured -- I guess I just thought that if it was bad news, everyone else around me would fall apart. And I couldn’t let myself do that, you know? None of us would have made it through things if I had.”

Blaine’s face falls. “Kurt,” he says thickly, “it’s okay to _need_ people, you know? You don’t -- you don’t have to shut everyone out and isolate yourself and put up walls like you did. I thought -- I really thought you’d grown out of that.”

“I have, in some ways,” Kurt argues. “I know you might’ve felt like I was shutting you out, Blaine, but you were the only person I let in. You didn’t push, and you were there when I needed you without me even having to ask.” Kurt reaches for his hand again, and Blaine lets him take it. “And I didn’t -- I didn’t want to say anything until there was actually something to tell.” Blaine opens his mouth, probably to protest, but Kurt presses two fingers to Blaine’s lips, needing the silence now. “Don’t, okay? Just... let me finish.” Blaine doesn’t look happy about being silenced, but he closes his mouth upon request, lips soft and moist against Kurt’s skin before he drops his fingers. “I think -- I think there was a part of me that didn’t tell you because I didn’t _want_ to,” Kurt confesses. “Telling you makes it more real than it already was, and it was already hard enough for me to handle on my own, okay?”

Blaine’s softened a lot over the duration of the conversation, and even though his hand is still firmly set in Kurt’s, his eyes are a little wet now, and Kurt knows Blaine’s not letting it go that easily. “You still should’ve told me,” Blaine insists, but he’s less indignant than before.

“I know,” Kurt says quietly. “But this isn’t going away -- I could still develop cancer five, ten, twenty years from now.”

“Don’t _say_ things like that,” Blaine says sharply, closing his eyes.

“It’s the truth,” Kurt says, gentle but firm. He squeezes Blaine’s hand to get Blaine to look at him again. “But I meant what I said yesterday -- I want to be happy. I want -- I want to enjoy my life with you while I can, regardless of what happens down the road. I don’t want this hanging over my -- _our_ heads for the rest of our lives.”

“But it will,” Blaine reminds him. “You just said it yourself -- it’s not going away.” He pauses, eyes shifting over to the kitchen before slowly refocusing on Kurt. “Is that -- is that why you cried over the mug your dad got you for your birthday? Because you thought you might not be around long enough for us to even start a family?”

“Partly,” Kurt admits. “It got me thinking about our options, more than anything. If we decide to adopt, that’s one thing, but if we decide to use a surrogate, I --” He stops and inhales sharply, unable to look Blaine in the eye. “I’m really not comfortable being the bio dad.”

“Because of the family medical history,” Blaine guesses. Kurt nods, and it only takes a second for Blaine to squeeze his hand reassuringly. Kurt looks back up to find Blaine’s eyes warm and fixed on him, no fight in him at all. “I won’t fight you on that. It makes a fair amount of sense. But -- if you ever change your mind, Kurt, I’d be okay with it.”

“I won’t,” Kurt insists, “but thank you.”

There’s a moment, then, hanging between them, and it fills the silence in a way it hasn’t been. Blaine falters first, lip trembling a little, and for the first time in a month, Kurt pulls Blaine into his arms to keep him together. “I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs into Blaine’s hair.

“Promise me,” Blaine says thickly, not bothering to try and hide the fact that he’s crying now, “that you won’t keep something like this from me again. Promise me you’ll talk to me. I know that sounds really selfish, with what you’ve been through this month, but --”

“I will,” Kurt promises. “It’s not too much to ask. It’s what you deserve. It’s what -- it’s what I need, honestly. I’m not always the best at doing things that are good for me.” He pulls back a little, not letting go but needing the space so he can actually look at Blaine. “Do you remember, after we broke up, before we were really talking and before we were really friends again? How hard that was for both of us?”

Blaine rubs at his eyes, trying to compose himself. “Please tell me you have a reason for digging up ancient history.”

Kurt traces his fingers along Blaine’s hairline, and the touch seems to comfort Blaine, whose eyes flutter shut again. “I kept telling myself that I wanted to get over you, that I wanted to move on. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. And in the end, the whole time we were broken up, I was just... trying to survive it.”

Blaine laughs wetly and curls in close, head resting on Kurt’s shoulder. “Your survival skills are legendary.”

“That’s sort of my point, though,” Kurt says quietly. “I’ve spent my entire life struggling to survive because I had to. But I don’t want to just survive anymore, Blaine. I want more than that. I want --” He tries to figure out how to articulate what he wants and how he feels. Blaine takes advantage of the pause to sit back up and look at him again. And _oh_ , there it is, the look in Blaine’s eyes that takes Kurt’s breath away. He remembers seeing a glimmer of it when they met, Blaine’s eyes turning onto him at the bottom of a staircase. “You’ve always made me feel like I can do so much more than just survive.”

The corner of Blaine’s mouth twitches up into a smile. “I knew there was a reason you married me.”

Kurt returns the smile, however small it might be, and shifts so that facing each other. “I married you because I knew you would always be here for me,” Kurt admits, resting his head on the back of the couch, “even when I wouldn’t let you. I knew you would always love me no matter how selfish or stubborn or uncommunicative I was. And maybe that’s taking advantage of you, but --”

“No,” Blaine cuts in. “It’s not.” He reaches out and runs his thumb across the band on Kurt’s left hand three times. “I promised you always,” he says softly. “Whether you’re right or wrong, in sickness or in health -- you know it wouldn’t have changed things, right? If the screening had gone differently? If you had cancer? I mean, it would’ve changed things, of course, but I would never leave you, Kurt -- especially not because of something you have no control over.”

“I know,” Kurt says faintly. “It’s always nice to hear, though.” The look in Blaine’s eyes is the same, but there’s something more there, now, something tentative and longing and -- “Don’t,” Kurt breathes, inhaling sharply and looking down at his lap. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like if you blink, I’ll disappear.”

Blaine is quiet for a moment before he leans in and cups Kurt’s head in his hands. “I’ve always looked at you this way,” Blaine says softly. “Don’t tell me you’re just noticing now.”

Kurt chuckles and presses a kiss to Blaine’s palm. “And normally you’re the oblivious one.” Blaine makes a half-indignant noise but it doesn’t hide his laugh. He leans in, smiling and shaking his head, before capturing Kurt’s lips in a kiss. Warmth blooms in him at the contact, all the way down to his toes, and for the first time in twenty-eight -- twenty-nine, really -- days, Kurt feels normal. He feels -- god, he feels seventeen again, with Blaine’s lips on his, instead of the thirty he actually is.

Kurt Hummel is thirty, but he’s not unhappy.

He breaks the kiss with a smile, blood thrumming in his veins (and he’s clean, clean, _clean_ ). “Don’t worry,” he breathes. “I’m still here.”

Kurt laces Blaine’s fingers with his own, and together, they start to make stitches in the fabric.

*****


End file.
